


Dolly the Sheep

by OperaGoose



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Episode Ignis Verse 2, Everybody Lives, M/M, Mortality, no beta we die like men, sketchy science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-11 01:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13513704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OperaGoose/pseuds/OperaGoose
Summary: At thirty-five, Prompto finds out for the first time that he’s an abomination. A clone. An M.T. Already lost and restless as an everyday guard for the Citadel, he imposes a self-imposed exile from Insomnia before the word can get to the royal advisor and he’s imprisoned.But the remaining MT units all over the United Solheim are decaying, and the remaining clones in the Besithia are dropping off one-by-one. Their DNA is over sixty years old and it’s acting like it.Faced with mortality and loneliness, Prompto just wishes it was like the old days. When his back didn’t hurt and his eyes weren’t giving out and he had a friend to hang out with.





	1. Revealed

Aranea’s question was curious, innocuous. She hadn’t meant anything by it, but it had opened up a whole can of worms he didn’t know to deal with. 

“ _You don’t know what you are, do you?_ ” 

It had seemed like a weird question at the time. But then it had hit him funny. “Photographer. Scorpio. Human?” 

Aranea’s expression stiffened. Just long enough for him to notice. “Yes, of course.” 

His eyes narrowed at her, and took just a moment too long to focus. “What do you mean?” He demanded. “What was that look about?” 

“There wasn’t a look, Blondie. I told you to get your eyes checked.” She plucked at his hair, where a an obvious patch of white hair was now growing in. “Well, not blondie for much longer.” 

He ignored her attempt at diversion. He was in his thirties, it wasn’t strange he was going grey. “You had a look. Right after I said I was human.” A small, sick feeling squirmed in his stomach. “Aranea. What do you know?” 

“Prompto…”

“I’m not human, am I?” He asked, his voice cracking like it hadn’t since high school. 

“Of course you are,” she said, quick to answer, but soothing. “You’re human.” There was a silent >em>but following the statement and he stared her down until she finished what she had meant to say. “But you weren’t, exactly… born like other people.” 

“Aranea,” he said, panicked. He felt so goddamn _old_ \- the last few years had been harder than the ten years they spent training for the final confrontation with Ardyn. "Just say what you mean.” 

So she told him. She pushed up his sleeve and unbuckled the wrist strap he always wore underneath. It covered up a mess of scar tissue from the tattoo removal his parents had tried to do when he was young – and the faint traces of the barcode underneath. 

“The Empire’s MTs,” she said slowly. “They’re all cloned from Besithia, in his facility up North. Once fully grown he turned them into scarscourge and shoved their cores into the machines that make up the Empire’s old army.” 

“And that’s me? I’m a clone?” He asked. Suddenly he knew it was true. His parents had never been close with him, leaving him alone as soon as he was old enough to look after himself. The way Ardyn had looked at him and made such cracks about being _empty_. Some of the snide insinuations Ravus had made. “I’ve gotta go.” 

“Prompto,” she said soothingly. “It’s alright. This isn’t a big deal. This doesn’t change who you are.” 

He stood up shakily. “I know. But I got the dawn shift by the gates tomorrow. I’m gonna put a heat-pack on my hip.” 

“Still giving you trouble?” She asked, concerned. 

“Fell on in funny last time I sparred with the Lady Amicitia,” he complained, giving the sore muscles a deep rub. “I’ll see you next time you’re in for diplomatic crap.” He offered her a firm handshake and limped off towards the barracks. 

He was a senior guard, knighted – he had some privileges. Skip the line at the cafeteria, pick of the shifts each roster. But most importantly for his own comfort, a private bedroom _with an attached bathroom_.

Fuck the designated pyjamas, he sprawled naked on the shitty bunk and pressed the heatpack to his hip. He closed his eyes, tried to settle down for the night. But he couldn’t sleep. 

A clone. An MT. One of the ones he and Noct and the others had fought against in the war. _One of them_. Gods, someone must’ve heard them in the courtyard. How long did he have until it got back to Ignis. 

Ignis Scientia, crown advsior, official consort. The best Noct could do for his lover, and his boyfriend. There were discussions early on about a marriage, but there were law changes and politics to consider. They’d decided to work on rebuilding the country, and forming the alliance – the United Solheim, they had ended up calling it. 

Ignis would take care of everything, without bothering Noct about it. Noct dealt with the country outside, Ignis took care of the Citadel and Insomnia. Technically Prompto was under Gladio’s jurisdiction in the crownsguard. But Ignis would take this kind of thing personally. Treason. 

God, he was a traitor to the crown. To Noct. 

It had all changed quickly, after they defeated Ardyn. Rebuilding Lucis from the ten years of darkness and the months of destruction before that. He didn’t have _time_ to hang out with his old buddy Prompto. And then after Lucis and rebuilding Insomnia, it had been the alliance. In the early days he’d asked Gladio for shifts in the throne room, so he could hang around with Noct at least. But then Ignis had _spoken_ to him, quietly and privately. That his presence, the playful way Noctis treated him, was undermining the reputation they were trying to build of Noct as a strong, serious leader. 

“ _I need you assigned elsewhere. Just for a little while. While we’re building our alliances._ ” He’d been sweet about it. 

But the ‘little while’ had turned into a ‘long while’. After a couple months, Prompto had given up asking Gladio to be put on the shift, and settled into the dawn shift by the gates. He had the rest of the day to do what he liked. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even seen Noct, at least not more than through the window of the Regalia as he passed through the gates. Let alone spoken to his old best friend. Everyone had moved on. 

Except him. 

Maybe that was a thing about him. Something went wrong with the cloning process or whatever. 

Astrals, what _else_ was wrong with him? How much danger was everyone in? How much danger was _Noct_ in? 

What would Ignis do if he knew? He removed him from the throne room because Noct’s _reputation_ was in trouble. How far would he take it if there was actual danger involved? 

So. Maybe he should save Ignis the trouble. He glanced at his phone screen, 2am. He still had three hours until his shift. He could get some decent distance between himself and the crown city before anyone knew he was missing. He still had some civvies in his stuff. If he got to Hammerhead, Cindy would lend him a car. Or drive him in the truck, if she had a pickup. 

He heaved himself up, groaning at the throb of pain through his hip and lower back as he stood. He dragged on a pair of jeans and an old plaid shirt, with the sleeves ripped off. He quickly finger-combed his hair, there was still enough gel in it to give it reasonable shape. Was there more grey hair than earlier? Surely that was his imagination. 

He stopped at the ATM, withdrew all his cash. Then he dumped his phone and his wallet into the river, so they couldn’t be trusted. He glanced back at the Citadel – to the high tower where Noct’s bedroom was. The once-chosen King, probably fast asleep at this time of night. 

He shot a fingergun at the window, giving a bitter little smile. “Good luck, buddy. Keep on keeping on.” And then he turned to leave. Every step shot agony up his hip and back, but he didn’t stop.


	2. Breakfast

Noctis would _never_ enjoy getting up early. Iggy had promised, when he was in high school that it was ‘ _merely a phase you’ll grow out of, Noct._ ’. How wrong he had been. At thirty-five, he was just as prone to staying awake all night and remaining half-asleep for hours after he woke up. His schedule was arranged accordingly. Astrals’ bless Ignis Scientia. For all sorts of reasons. 

But he wasn’t awake enough during breakfast for important stuff. So when Iggy swept in with a new report, halfway through his ‘diplomatic breakfast’ with Aranea, he half-listened. At best. 

“…acting erratically over the past few months,” he caught on to him saying. “Some are decaying. Approximately fifteen percent of their numbers have signs of decay, an additional three percent are scrap now.” 

“What are?” Noct asked, lifting his eyes from his plate. 

Iggy gave him a disapproving frown. “The MTs in the sanctuary at Fenestala. _Listen_ when I’m speaking, Noct, I don’t talk for my own amusement.” 

“So, some old robots are passed their used by date. Why is this important?” He grumbled, grabbing for his coffee. 

“You’ve signed onto the petition against the Niflheim crown to acknowledge the MT footsoldiers as a new lifeform,” Ignis replied impatiently. “You ought to be concerned that they’re now becoming _endangered_.”

Noctis frowned. “I don’t remember that petition. Why are we trying to acknowledge robots?” 

Ignis sighed. “We’ve had this discussion,” he replied. “The remaining MTs that survived the Dawn have no trace of starscourge, but their cores remain active. After the reveal of how they were created—”

“What, how?” He asked, bewildered. “When did we learn that?” 

Ignis gave him a cold, disapproving look. “Noctis,” he scolded. Oh, gosh. His whole first name. He was in trouble now. “I read you the full report. The cloning facility in the mountains, the transfer into starscourge energy, the cores.” 

“Yeah, sure,” he said evasively. When had this happened? Not that he cared about a bunch of robots, like… at all. 

Ignis just sighed in annoyance. “If there was some sort of in-built expiry date in their mechanisms, or… well. There’ve been rumours about decay in the Besithia Facility too. The clones having issues – heart problems, organ failure.” 

Aranea, who had been watching with silent interest, put down her cutlery and her napkin. “I ought to say goodbye to Prompto,” she said, all-too-casually. 

“Mm, I’d imagine,” Noct said, turning his attention to her. Away from this uninteresting cloning business. “Is this why you still refuse to marry me? Because you were waiting on him to ask?” 

She paused, watching him. “Your pardon?” She asked. “Me and… Blondie? What brought this on?” 

“You were seen in the gardens yesterday. Holding hands, having a long, intimate conversation. Did he propose?” 

“Don’t sound so bitter, your majesty,” she said, amused. “There’s nothing like that between me and Blondie. If you’d spoken to him at all in the last few years, he could’ve told you that.” She swept her hair over her shoulder with a smile. “I’m not marrying you because I’m waiting for a much bigger catch. A crown means nothing to me, but the coin does.” She winked at them both and then strode out towards the doors. “See you next meeting!” 

Ignis took a seat in her vacated place. “I didn’t hear rumours of their clandestine meeting,” he said calmly. 

“Because I haven’t spread them.” He’d been the one to see them in the garden, albeit from a window. But _something_ intense had happened between them. He turned his attention back to Iggy. “What were you saying?” 

“The Besithia clones,” he replied. “And the decaying MTs. It could be a serious issue. I’d like to request permission to take a couple of the agents out of their current assignment and send them to Besithia’s facility and the Fenestala reserve to investigate further.” 

He shrugged. “Okay, fine. Talk to Gladio about it.” Why was he supposed to care anyway? 

Ignis nodded and opened his folder. “Alright, let’s discuss your schedule for the day…"


	3. Missing

Prompto jolted awake as the car engine turned off, groaning as his back wrenched with the movement. He rubbed his hip and gave Cindy a weak smile. “Thanks for the ride.” 

She gave him a smile. “Any time, Prompto,” she said. “I had to pick up some materials from the dock anyway.” She looked at him in concern. “Are you sure you don’t know when you’ll be back?” 

“No, not sure. Open-ended assignment in Tennebrae.” It was a lie, but the less she knew the less trouble she might get in. He gave her a loose hug, ignoring the strain in his lower back. “I’ll call you when I’m allowed.” 

“They gave you enough cash for the journey?” She checked. 

He nodded and smiled. “Yeah. I’ve got a ticket waiting for me at the dock.” He nudged her waist with his elbow. “I’m sorted. Thank you, Cindy.” 

He watched the big yellow truck disappear, and headed up to the resort. He bought new clothes and buried his old civvies in the sand near the camping haven. Wandering around the resort, he asked a few questions about if he needed his passport for a day-trip to Altissia. No – as long as he bought a return ticket. Dressed in a dorky “I heart G Q” tourist shirt, he boarded the ferry and stared at his country disappearing into sea. 

…

“What do you mean he’s **missing**?” 

Noct looked up as he entered the sitting room he shared with Ignis. It was rare his partner shouted, these days. He kept himself calm – an icy sort of anger, rather than shouting. 

Gladio was standing against the wall, the hint of silvery hair in the out-grown buzz on the sides of his head. They’d all gotten old recently. 

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” Ignis demanded. 

“I had to cover his shifts and re-arrange the roster because he vanished,” the general replied impatiently. “Maybe he ran off with Aranea. Aren’t they supposed to be engaged or something?” 

“Probably not rich enough for her.” He came and sat down on his good armchair. “What are we talking about?” 

“Prompto,” Ignis replied, expression grim. “He’s left the citadel without word. Hasn’t been seen since count last night.” He sighed in irritation and rubbed one eyebrow. He never wore his glasses these days. Not since the Dawn. “I was going to send him to Fenestala, to be the agent there.” 

“Astrals, Iggy. Really?” Gladio growled impatiently. “It’s not enough to say he can’t be on the crown shift with Noct any more, you gotta send him out of the country too? You gotta work on your jealousy issues.” 

Noctis frowned. “What are you talking about, Gladio?” 

“I’m talking about your _consort_ being so insecure about his position he banned Prompto from the throne-room.” 

“That is not the reason and you _know_ it,” Ignis replied impatiently. "Noct has a _reputation_ to maintain, and the sort of behaviour between them was inappropriate when it came to diplomatic meetings.” 

“I thought you said Prompto was requesting gate shifts?” Noctis asked Gladio suspiciously. 

“He has been, since he got kicked off.” He unfolded his arms. “His cash had been withdrawn from an ATM downtown at 3am,” he explained. “His phone isn’t registering, but I’ve requested the GPS trail from the phone company.” He ran his hand through his carefully groomed beard. “My guess is something happened last night with Aranea and he skipped town. He’ll come home soon enough.” 

“But we don’t even know where he is!” Noctis argued, getting to his feet. “We gotta go find him. Get the car!” 

“Noct, be serious,” Iggy replied. “You have a full schedule for the next week. You are _King_ now, you can’t go galavanting off on new adventures just because your high school best friend went away without leave.” 

Noct clenched his jaw tightly. Was this how his father felt when Cid left the city? When Weskham fled the country? Stuck, trapped, inside these damn citadel walls with no choice for seeing off his friends. He looked at Gladio seriously. “Can I trust you to see to this personally?” 

The general grunted. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll put Iris in charge. He probably stopped at Hammerhead – I’ll start there.” 


	4. Diagnosis

Prompto sat in the doctor’s office, heat-pack pressed to his aching hip. He’d gotten X-rays and scans a week ago, and here he was to get the results. He’d settled well into Altissia. It was still rebuilding from the wreckage of the Tidemother during Noc’s trial over a decade ago. That felt like a lifetime away. 

He was working with Weskham, scrubbing dishes clean and generally trying to move as little as possible. It didn’t pay more than pittance, but he got a free meal and Weskham let him crash on his couch. He’d called Cindy, let her know he was settled well in Tennebrae. 

“ _Why didn’t you tell me you were running away, Prompto?_ ” She asked, her voice hurt. “ _I would have covered for you. General Amicitia came **looking** for you._ ” He’d sworn in answer to that. “ _Are you even in Tennebrae_?”

“ _Of course I am. Just… lying low. I’m sorry I lied about being on a mission. I didn’t want you to get in trouble._ ” Or give him away. 

“Mr…Aurum?” A doctor asked, squinting at his file as he stepped into the room. 

“That’s me.” Or at least the fake name he’d given them. 

He looked up, surprised. “You’re looking very good for your age, Mr Aurum.” 

“Pardon?” 

The doctor pinned up his X-rays on the light box. “Well, Mr Aurum. There aren’t many other options. We can give you a hip replacement, that’s what we offer most people your age.” 

“My age?” He asked, his voice strangling slightly. 

“Nothing to be ashamed of, Mr Aurum,” he answered. “We see a lot of people come in at your time of life for similar problems.” Prompto could hardly listen as the doctor explained about the joins in his hips, how age wore down the cartilage between the ball and socket and caused problems. They could surgically replace the joint with a metal one, which would fix that particular problem but he would have to work on keeping it fit and exercised. 

“Doctor,” he said weakly. “Exactly how old do you think I am?” 

The doctor slid down his glasses and looked at him. “We usually see this medical issue in patients about sixty years of age.” 

“Sixty?” He asked, horrified. “I’m thirty-five!” 

The doctor gave him a pitying look – one that showed he clearly didn’t believe at all. And then he went straight back to explaining the surgery…

…

Noctis stared at the box of sandy, worn clothes that Gladio had dumped on the bed in front of him. Ignis grumbled and pulled away from Noct’s neck with a slight frown. “Gladio,” he said in a warning voice. 

“You can get back to your foreplay later,” the general growled impatiently. “I’ve got business to deal with in the barracks.” 

Noctis picked up the sandy shirt, fingers exploring the frayed edges where the sleeves had once been. He knew this shirt. “This is Prompto’s.” He’d brought this shirt for Prompto, way back in the year after they graduated high school. It had sleeves back then. “What happened?” 

“Not really sure,” Gladio replied. “Found the clothes buried next to the camping haven at Galdin Quay. He told Cindy he was on an official mission to Tennebrae, but the ticket vendor doesn’t remember anyone matching Prom’s description buying a ferry ticket there.” 

“Then where _is_ he?” Noct demanded, disentangling himself from Iggy’s embrace. 

“I don’t know,” Gladio admitted, sounding angry. With himself, more than likely, but he always did lash out when he was mad. “I’ve done all I can for an initial search. I can do some Interpol searches and check with my overseas contacts from home.” 

“You were supposed to find him!” Noct snapped, sitting up and carefully picking up the box. “What about his phone? Did you track his phone?” 

“They fished it out the bottom of the river, near the bank,” he replied impatiently. “He was smart about vanishing. Taught him how to track down perps too well.” He stood up off leaning against the post of his bed. “Now I’ve got to go do my work. I’ll let you know about any changes.” 

Prompto…

Noct carried the box over to his desk, flicking the lamp on. “You…” he began carefully, taking out the shirt carefully. “You don’t think he’s done something stupid, do you?” 

“No, I wouldn’t think so,” Ignis said, calm and reassuring. “He’s not the type to be so reckless.” He took up the pants, a pair of non-descript jeans. He went through the pockets, removed a receipt and read it over. “He bought new clothes,” he commented. “Probably before boarding a ferry.” 

Noct watched him brush off some sand and carefully folded up the jeans, while he held fast to he sleeveless shirt. He felt a little stab of anger at Ignis. For his jealousy, keeping Prompto far away from him. Had his loneliness drive him off? 

“Noct?” Iggy asked uncertainly, giving him a carefully guarded expression. 

“Can you spend the night in your room tonight?” Noctis asked, though it wasn’t _really_ a question now, was it? 

He frowned, but bowed and left the room. 

“Prompto,” Noct mumbled, looking out the window behind his desk. “What’s going on with you?”


	5. Clones

Ignis and Gladio’s expressions were carefully guarded as they ascended the elevator into the facility. Whatever the agent had seen at the Besithia facility, it had apparently demanded the king to come see it personally. 

“Noct, stop fiddling with your tie,” Iggy scolded, knocking away his hands from his collar. “I need you to maintain your reputation while we’re here. We’re in Niff territory, no matter that they are our allies now.” 

He grunted in acknowledgement, tucking his hands behind his back to stop fiddling them in his nerves. He’d been to Niflheim plenty of times since the Dawn, working on rebuilding their country together into the United Solheim. But here, where they’d actually _made_ the weapons that had killed so many people he knew and loved and were responsible for? He’d never wanted to. He didn’t even want to _now_.

The elevator opened and they stepped out to see a wheeled gurney going past. There was a shabby white sheet over the body, but an arm fell off the gurney and pulled the fabric away from the face. 

“Prompto!” Everything about propriety or facades or _anything_ vanished completely. He jolted forward, trying to grab his best friend’s hand. What had happened? Why was he here? How had he died? They’d shaved his beautiful hair…

But Gladio’s arms grabbed him around his waist, pulling him back and pinning him against the strong, muscular chest. 

“Let me _go_!” he hissed furiously, struggling in the grip. 

“Noctis,” Ignis snapped. “Look _around_!”

He raised his head, and his stomach twisted in horror as he saw _why_ they wanted him to look up. All around them were huge tubes, filled with people. With clones. With _Prompto_. He felt his limbs going numb, slumping in Gladio’s grip. “ _What the **hell** is going on?” _

__

Aranea appeared, standing up straight from the shadowy alcove she’d been tucked away in. “I think I can probably explain that.” 

__

Noctis listened with shock and horror. His high school friend, his former lover, his _Prompto_. He was a clone, had been saved from _becoming a monster_. 

__

“Why didn’t he ever _tell me_?” Noctis asked, upset. 

__

“He didn’t know,” Aranea answered. “I told him the last night I was in Insomnia, he had no idea. You should’ve seen his face…” 

__

Ignis spoke next, in the awkward silence that followed. “Are all the clones ill?” 

__

Noctis whirled on him, furious. “We just found out about Prompto being a clone, about what drove him out of our lives, and you ask about _the clones_?” But after his tirade, the expression on his partner’s face settled in. 

__

Ignis looked sick with worry, eyes locked on the nearest clone inside a tube. 

__

“That hasn’t been determined,” Aranea answered. “They never got ethical clearance to wake them. But a lot of them are. Heart failure, it seems. From what the coroner can tell.” 

__

“Oh god. The MTs in Fennestala… the clones…” Noctis felt _sick_. 

__

Iggy’s expression was blank, concealing the pain and the anxiety Noct could see in the stiffness of his posture. “Yes. My thoughts exactly.” 

__

She looked between them. “Well, don’t keep me in the dark. It’s just us and a hundred unconscious clones here.” 

__

It was Gladio who spoke for them. “Prompto’s gone missing. No one’s seen him since you did, the night you apparently told him his whole life had been a lie.” 

__

“Don’t get angry at me, Musclehead,” she replied with a scowl. “Aren’t you supposed to be his general?” 

__

“Stop arguing!” Noctis snapped, drawing himself up to his full height. Using his _kingly_ voice. They snapped his attention to him. “We were _all_ to blame for losing track of him.” He folded his arms, looking at them all coolly. “We’re going to figure out what’s happening with the MTs and the Besithia clones, and while we’re waiting for the facts, we’re going to _find_ Prompto Besithia. Any questions?” 

__

He got three bows in answer. “Yes, King Noctis.”

__


	6. Gaslit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter for this one. The next couple chapters will have warnings for gaslighting and medical imprisonment, so. Keep away from that if it makes you squicky.

Prompto jolted awake. He squinted around the unfamiliar surroundings, trying to get his eyes to focus. He should be in the hospital. He’d gone in for his hip replacement surgery. This didn’t look like the room he’d put him out in. That had been stark, white, surgical, scrubbed and disinfected within an inch of its life. 

This room was nothing like that. The walls were an ugly, aged wallpaper in three shades of muted brown, the ceiling cracked and peeling. There was a weird circle on the ceiling – like there’d been a chandelier once, but they’d taken it out and patched it up with little care. The furniture was old and marked up, well-worn in. The bed he was in was made up in threadbare floral sheets. 

“What the fuck?” He asked, propping himself up on one elbow. The sheets slid down and he squinted at the pale blue pin-striped pyjamas he was wearing. What was going on? “Nurse?” He called. Why was his voice such a painful croak. 

His tongue felt too heavy in his mouth. When he tried to move his legs they felt too _long_ for his body, stepping down strangely on the ground. He got to his feet, wavering. There was a slight ache in his hip, but nothing like the pain he’d been experiencing. Nothing like the pain they’d promised he’d need to rehabilitate through. 

He pulled up his shirt, confused. There was a lot of squinting to get his eyes focused on his hip. There was a faint scar from surgery over his hip. He made a startled and confused noise. Shouldn’t it be raw and red and healing? 

“Nurse?” He called again, louder. He tugged down his shirt and walked towards the door, feet feeling strange as they scraped across the dull cream carpet. He opened the door, looking out at the stark white empty corridor outside. “Nurse?” He called uncertainly. 

“Mr Aurum,” came a sharp, disapproving voice. He turned his head, squinting at the white-dressed woman that stormed down the corridor. “You know the rules. You’re not permitted to leave your suite outside your assigned recreation hours.” 

“What?” He croaked, confused. 

She sighed. “Are you having another episode, Mr Aurum?” Her hand gripped his arm and forcefully marched him back into the weird brown room. “Your name is Prompto Aurum. You’re sixty years old. This is the Altissian Aged Care Home, and you’re in the secure dementia and Alzheimer’s ward. For your own safety, you are encouraged to remain in your rooms at all times.” 

“No, no,” he mumbled, “That’s not right. I’m not…” He shook is head. “I’m thirty-five. That’s not…”

She clucked her tongue. “Of course, Mr Aurum.” She sat him down on the bed and turned up a dial on her bracelet. He struggled as he felt an artificial tiredness spread through him. 

“No!” he said, struggling even as his limbs lost their strength. “No, I’m not…” He never finished his sentence, he was out of it without a further word.


	7. Truth

Prompto rubbed at the itching of his palms. Not scratch. He didn’t want them to bind up his hands again, that sucked. But rubbing never got rid of the itch. 

“Prompto, darling, are you listening to me?” 

He glanced up. “Who are you again?” 

She was a beautiful woman, but aging into elderly years. Her hair was dark brown, streaked through with white hairs. She looked a little sad at the question, but carefully leaned forward to squeeze his hand reassuringly. “Prompto. It’s me. Your wife.” 

He frowned. “I don’t have a wife,” he disagreed. He took his hands away from hers, eyes lingering over the speckles. He called them freckles, but the nurse said they were age spots. He’d figured out somewhere around year two of the darkness that he really wasn’t interested in women romantically. He loved sex with them, their bodies, how beautiful they were, but he didn’t love them. There were three people he’d loved in his life, and all of them had been male. 

She reached out to pat his arm, too comfortable in his space. “You’re just having a bad period, you’ll remember soon.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “Carita,” she told him gently. “Carita Aurum. We’ve been married for twenty years.” 

If they were married, why didn’t she tell them who he was? Prompto Argentum. Not Aurum. He’d told people when he was Aurum when he came to Altissia after leaving Insomnia. If she was his wife, he would have told her that. 

Right? 

Gods, it was so hard to think. What day was it? The ugly lace curtains over the window were stapled down so he couldn’t move them. But if he squinted out, he could see the green of a garden. It was sunny today. 

“If you don’t want to talk today, should I read to you instead?” She asked. Carita, was that what she had said her name was? Carita Aurum. 

“Can’t you just go away?” He hissed. “I don’t know _who you are_. You’re not my wife.” 

“You’re just having a bad day,” she said, reassuring. She stood. “I’ll get the nurse. You can sleep for the rest of the day.” 

“Don’t do that.” Sleep for the rest of the day. That was their code for medicating him up to his eyeballs and restraining him in the bed. “I’m fine. I don’t need to sleep any more today!” 

“Don’t shout at me, Prompto,” she replied, far too calmly. She opened the book in her lap and started reading. It was an old book, he closed his eyes and tried to tune it out. 

Gladio had read him this book. Both of them naked and sated, tangled up in blankets. Prompto lying on his back, tracing new scars and the familiar patterns of his tattoos. Could they still be fuckbuddies if Prompto was in love with him? _That_ had been real. This wasn’t real. Whoever Carita was, she wasn’t real. He wasn’t his wife. 

The door opened and she fell silent. The nurse came in, greeting the woman but ignoring Prompto entirely. “Time for a blood test,” she announced as she strapped his limbs onto the bed. So he wouldn’t fight, like the first few times before they’d decided to keep him restrained as much as possible. 

What were they even testing? He was going to be a desiccated with all they were taking from him. Once she had her vials filled, she left him strapped in and walked his fake-wife out of the room. At least they hadn’t medicated him for now. He hated the way it made him feel. 

He closed his eyes, focusing on his deep breaths. Burying himself deep out of his awareness into himself. _Focus, Prompto Argentum,_ he told himself. _Remember what is real._

His name was Prompto Argentum. He wasn’t born like normal people, he was cloned to become an MT. He’d been rescued and adopted into a small, Lucian family at one year old and raised in Insomnia. He’d grown up with no friends, an absent family – until Luna had wrote him a letter and pleaded with him to be friends with Noctis. 

He hadn’t done that. Not for years. Not until he was fit enough to be seen with the prince. But the first day of high school he’d done it. He’d become friends with Noctis. And in high school they were best friends. 

And then Noctis had kissed him in the backseat of the car riding back from their graduation. Hands clenched in his scholar’s robe. “ _Ignis says people don’t stay friends after high school_ ,” Noct had whispered against his lips. “ _I didn’t want to lose you without ever knowing…_ ”

Prompto had kissed him back then, desperately. _I’m not going anywhere._

He opened his eyes as the door opened. The gas-lit lamps were on, it was dark outside the window. His nurse was pushing in, carrying a tray of food. Dinner time? Had he had breakfast? Or lunch? What _day_ was it? 

“I can feed myself,” he said as she sat on the side of his bed and picked up the spoon. 

She ignored him completely, spoon-feeding him some kind of tasteless mush. He’d never missed Ignis’s cooking more. 

Iggy. Was he still the consort? How _long_ had it even been? The nurse said it was twenty years, at least. She said he was sixty. 

Would that have been him? If he hadn’t _broke up_ with Noctis when he found out he was getting married. It had all gone wrong, but it was Ignis he’d turned to for comfort. Prompto had been hurt, and jealous, but didn’t blame him. Ignis had checked if he was okay with it, in a private morning while Gladio was out exercising and Noctis was still fast asleep. Prompto had given his blessing, or whatever. If Noctis had moved on, he’d never hold him back. 

Ignis was perfection. Tall, lean, intelligent, strong, stunningly handsome, that accent, his caring nature, his loyalty. Prompto was in love with him too, in his own way. He’d buried his feelings of jealousy and betrayal in the fling he’d had with Gladio, and that had ended just as disastrously.. He’d tried, during the ten years of darkness, _so hard_ to be in love with Cindy. He just couldn’t do it. 

He still loved his friends, in a pained, longing way. From a place where he knew it was inevitable he couldn’t be with any of them. Noct wasn’t just his princely best friend, he was a King, and the leader of the kingdoms of United Solheim. Ignis had never looked at anyone but Noctis, And if Gladio knew _how_ to settle down, it would be with the most beautiful woman in the world because he’d never settle for less. 

He was just some nobody. Not even human, really. A clone, designed to be a war weapon, who just fell into good luck. They probably hadn’t even noticed he was _missing_. Well, Gladio probably did. He’d have to fill his shifts, after all. But he wouldn’t have _cared_. Probably eager to get rid of him. 

The nurse stopped feeding him. She picked up the tray and looked down at him. “I know this must be difficult for you, Mr Aurum,” she explained. Her voice was so soft, so soothing he could hardly recognize it as hers. “But your illness means that you can’t trust your own mind. Believe what we tell you, and you won’t be so confused and upset all the time.” 

He wasn’t sick. They were _lying_ to him. He would _know_ if it was true. 

…wouldn’t he? 

He felt the familiar haze of the medication ebbing over him. “No,” he whimpered, trying his hardest to resist. 

“You should trust what we tell you,” the nurse said, her voice still gentle and soothing as he was swallowed up by darkness. “You’ll find things much easier if you do.”


	8. Research Paper

“Any news?”

Gladio shook his head. He looked tired – there was more grey in his hair now. He was almost forty, and it never reminded Noctis so much as it did in that moment that they were all getting old. What did Prompto look like now? 

“I thought you’d found a solid lead in Altissia,” Ignis asked, frowning. He’d gone back to wearing his glasses again since their search had began. Back to being Speccy again. 

“It was a solid lead, I tracked him to Weskham,” the general replied. His beard was getting this side of unkempt. “He was staying with him, working with him at Maahgo. But he said he was going for a doctor’s appointment, and disappeared.” 

Noct swallowed painfully. _Prompto, where are you?_ “How long?” 

“No more than a few weeks with Weskham,” Gladio replied. “I don’t think he’s lying to cover up. He seemed just as worried as I was, and was asking _me_ for clues to help find him.” 

Noctis sighed heavily. He rested his head back against the seat of the armchair, squeezing his eyes closed. “Iggy. Please tell me you’ve got good news.” 

His advisor sighed. Everything was strained between them these days, ever since they found out Prompto was missing. He hadn’t had Iggy in his bed since their trip to Niflheim. 

“The peer-review board sent me another article today,” he replied. “DNA analysis on a cloned sheep. Dolly.” He shook his head. “I haven’t read much, but it doesn’t seem very empirical.” 

“Read it anyway,” he said quietly. “Anything we can learn, we can use to help keep Prompto healthy.” 

“Yes, your highness.” 

Noctis started at that, staring at him. Iggy was avoiding his eyes, and he met glances with Gladio. 

He snorted and stood up. “I am way too busy to get tangled up in your relationship drama. I’ve gotta call Aranea, see what she got from the legwork in Altissia. Maybe someone, somewhere has seen Prompto.” Tiredly, he made his way out of the sitting room. 

Once they were alone, Noct turned to his partner. “Iggy?” 

He didn’t look up from the papers in his hand. But he wasn’t reading – his eyes beyond the frames of his glasses were stationary, though focused. “You blame me, don’t you?” 

“Huh?” 

“For Prompto leaving. You think it’s my fault.” 

“What?” Noct asked, startled. “Iggy, of course not. Why would it be your fault?” 

“Because I made him feel like he couldn’t see you. I told him he couldn’t work the throne room, and he gave up your friendship entirely.” His hands were tense on the printed pages. 

Noct moved to sit next to him, wrap his arms around Iggy’s shoulder. “Specs, no. I don’t blame you for that.” 

“I do,” he retorted, pulling away from him. He tossed the pages aside. “Gladio blames me. He thinks I banned him on purpose because I was jealous. You two were making each other _laugh_ in the middle of diplomatic meetings, Noctis. I had to do _something_.”

“I know,” Noct answered, sitting back and waiting for Ignis to move back into his space again. “I get it. I don’t blame you for that.” 

“Maybe you should,” Ignis said, taking off his glasses to polish them from a cloth in his pocket. “He was never _pleased_ with our relationship. It came too soon after yours. I asked for his blessing and he gave it, but I could tell it was begrudging. I shouldn’t have allowed it to continue.” 

“ _He_ dumped _me_ ,” Noctis said with a frown. 

“Because you were _getting married_ ,” Ignis replied. “Not because his feelings for you had changed. Noctis you can’t possibly have been that _dense_. He’s always loved you.” 

Noct frowned. It wasn’t possible. Prompto had been going on non-stop about Cindy and Aranea the whole trip. That had hurt, and so had his fling with Gladio, but he’d taken it for what it was. Prompto proving just how much he’d moved on. 

Personally, he could never see the appeal of women. But he understood the affair with Gladio. 

“Are you not happy with me, Ignis?” Noct asked, hurt. 

“Not recently,” he replied with reluctant honesty. “Since this mess with Prompto’s disappearance, it hasn’t felt right. I cannot face the _guilt_ of feeling as if it is my fault he left. I can’t sleep next to you knowing he’s out there, alone, probably in trouble – knowing him. All because he thinks I came between you.” 

“He doesn’t think that,” Noct tried to reassure him. But Iggy just gave him a look, and he fell silent. “Do you want to end this?” He gestured between them. 

“No,” he said, defeated. “But I believe it would be best, for the moment, if we did. We won’t make anything official through the court or public yet.” 

“I can’t believe you’re breaking up with me,” Noct said, hurt. “Now, of all times!” 

“Right now, we need to focus on bringing Prompto home, making sure he’s not ill like the other clones. When he’s home, we’ll have a proper discussion about our relationship.” He paused, and finally placed his glasses back on his face. He looked at Noct seriously, his eyes unreadable beyond the lenses. “You may feel differently, when we see Prompto again.” 

Noctis turned away, agitated and confused. He picked up the sheets of paper and pretended to read through them. A word caught his attention. “Who’s Aurum?” He asked, pointing at one of the tables. 

Ignis frowned thoughtfully and took the page from him, looking it over. “It must be a miss-type. The caption says the table is about comparing Dolly’s DNA to a sample of a similar sheep of the same birthdate.” Look, it’s noted in the editor’s comments. 

“Ignis…” Noctis said, his stomach clenching with a sick twist. “Aurum is Cidney’s name.” He raised his eyes to Iggy’s face. “It can’t be… Dolly is a sheep, right?” 

Ignis didn’t answer. He picked up the sheets and silently studied the papers. “You should call Gladio back,” he replied. “We need to find out where this study is taking place.”


	9. Rescue

Prompto straightened his day clothes, looking down at himself. He’d stopped fighting them, at every little thing. And now he was given privileges back. He wasn’t strapped down to his bed any more for sleep, and yesterday they’d told him he’d been doing so well he could have his recreation time back. 

Once a day, for an hour, he could dress in _real people_ clothing. Clothes with buttons and zippers. Carita was coming again today, they were set to play cards. She even promised to bring photos this time – of their daughter and grandchildren. It would be easier, he thinks, to see them. Put faces to the things he’d been told. 

He didn’t have a mirror, they said it would be too jarring for him to see his real appearance, compared to the way he remembered himself. But he smoothed his hair as best as he could with his fingers and sat by his window to wait the arrival of his nurse. 

It was bright and green outside. He watched through the gauzy lace of the curtains. Maybe one day soon they’d let him out for the day, let him go to the optometrist, get his glasses prescription rechecked. He couldn’t remember clearly, but he should at least be able to see the world around him clearly. 

There was some sort of commotion outside the doors. One of the other residents might be having an episode. Maybe he'd get to meet some of them today. In the rec area. 

He fiddled with the lace of the curtain, the sensation it caused against his fingers seemed magnified. Ah, one of those weird days. 

“Prompto?” 

He jolted. That was his name. And something was familiar about the voice that yelled it. Like a half-forgotten memory. “Hello?” He called back uncertainly. 

“Prompto!” Again. It was so familiar. Masculine. 

“Yeah?” 

He flinched as the door banged loudly, as if someone was trying to force it open. “It’s not locked from the outside.” 

A pause, and then he heard the noise as the handle turned. He didn’t even have a handle on his side of the door. It opened quick and he squinted until the figure came into focus. “Noctis?” 

“Oh, thank fuck. _Prompto_.” The king rushed into the room to his side. 

Prompto just watched, unmoving, eyes blurring in and out of focus but never quite getting the clarity he desired. “This has got to be the weirdest episode yet,” he said dryly. 

Or was it a dream. It was oddly detailed for a dream. He reached down and pinched his wrist sharply and hissed at the pain. “Mm. Not a dream.” 

“Prompto, are you _high_?” Noct asked, taking his hands up. It took a moment for him to focus on their hands. His own, speckled and marked with age – and Noct’s. Calluses worn down with years of rest, and now red with sword use after so long. 

“Should you be fighting at your age?” He murmured. 

“My age?” Noctis asked dubiously. 

“Well, if I’m sixty – you’ve gotta be the same age, right?” He asked, raising his eyes to Noct’s face. It was the wrong distance to let his eyes focus properly on his face. 

“Sixty? Prompto, _what_?” Noct asked. 

“Well. Last time I remember them telling me.” He freed one of his hands to rub his forehead. “Nature of the condition I guess. How far was I off? Five? Ten years? Carita doesn’t look any older.” 

“Prompto who on earth is Carita?” Noct asked, sounding agitated and confused. 

“My wife, and the mother of my daughter,” he replied easily. “Did you ever marry? Carry on the line of Lucis?” 

“Prompto.” Noct said quietly. “You’ve been missing for less than two months. I don’t know what they’ve told you here. But it’s not years. You’re not sixty. You’re thirty five. Just like me.” 

He shook his head. “I’ve aged. I had to get a hip replacement. My eyes are giving out. I’ve got grey hair. I’m old and tired all the time. Look at the age spots on my hands, for Ifrit’s sake.” 

“Prompto. These are _freckles_.” Noct took up his hands again, thumb stroking over the darker speckles on his hands. “Freckles. Your whole body is covered in freckles, Prompto. Even the parts that don’t see the sun.” 

He could remember. Noct’s fingers and tongue sliding across the freckles in the divots of his hips, hidden between the purple and silver stretch marks left over from his childhood. He felt his cheeks heating. “Used to,” he mumbled. 

“You needed glasses as a kid, Prom. I remember. Those square lenses without the frames. You were cute.” Noct reached up to stroke his face, thumb rubbing the bags under his eyes. “You just need glasses again. Nothing shameful about that.” 

“Noct, what are you doing?” He muttered, confused. 

“Talking you down to reality.” He reached up, stroking fingers through a patch of his hair. “This is the only grey hair you have.” He cupped his face again. “I wouldn’t lie to you. You’re not old – or tired. You’re sedated up to your eyeballs, and they’ve been feeding you bullshit to keep you complacent.” 

Prompto rested his forehead against Noctis’s. “This is a weird episode. But I don’t mind it. I’ve missed you.” He chuckled, nuzzling his nose against his cheek. “I swear, you’re the only thing that’s keeping me sane in here. Remembering what we used to be like – after high school. Before your engagement and everything got fucked up.” 

Noct’s breath hitched slightly. But before he could reply, the door opened again and a familiar bulky figure appeared in the doorway. “Noct. Prompto. We’ve gotta go. They called the guards.” 

“Go?” Prompto mumbled, confused. 

Noct held his hand and helped him up. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here. When was the last time you got fresh air?” 

“Five years?” He mumbled uncertainly. 

“Five years?” Gladio echoed, glancing at Noct. 

“Long story. I’ll fill you in on the way.”


	10. Coming Down

“How are you feeling today?” The doctor asked, turning in his chair to look at Prompto. 

“Fine, I guess,” he shrugged. He was sat up on the gurney thing in the medical office at the citadel. “I’m being weaned off the sedatives, and I’m not jittery any more between doses. You said the shakes would take a while to wear off. I can’t go back to work, so… just waiting on you I guess. You get my X-ray’s back yet?” 

The doctor had been listening carefully, and about to ask another question. But Prompto made sure to ask him the question first. 

He grabbed the envelope from his desk, and put the X-rays up on light box. “Like I suspected, there was no hip replacement,” he said, circling it with his laser pointer. “The sedation for the surgery was probably just an excuse to get you to the facility.” He grabbed a marker and circled a fine line on his hip. “But this looks like a hairline fracture. It’s definitely healing. Probably from the damage from your fight with Iris you refused to let me check.” 

“I was fine.” 

“You fractured your hip.” The doctor pulled the X-ray down. “I still recommend you speak with the counsellor. But I know better than to press. It needs to be in your own time.” 

“So,” he said, looking at the fracture. “What about the other tests. Heart monitor, blood pressure, all that stuff.” 

“Some,” the doctor replied. “Still waiting on the proper DNA analysis and your marrow sample. Your blood is low, but all the tests came back low – probably from all the blood they took from you in the facility. I’ve spoken to the mess hall, you’re on double portions and high nutrient diets. Your liver and kidneys aren’t doing well, but they’re improving from your initial results.” 

“Yeah. I’m guessing not being medicated to hell every day would help with that,” Prompto mumbled, rubbing at the skin of his palms. 

“Itching again?” 

“A little. I had my dose before breakfast.” He tucked his hands under his thighs, stop himself from itching. 

“I’ll give you some steroid cream,” the doctor said, “but no more than four times a day. Can you be trusted with that?” 

“I’m not an addict,” he mumbled. “Not by choice anyway.” 

The doc handed him a tube of cream. “Well, you know what to do then. Bed rest, water aerobics, healthy diet, come to me immediately if you start feeling heart palpitations or get unexpected pains.” 

Prompto uncapped the tube, rubbing a tiny dot of cream into the itching skin of his hands. “So it’s true, isn’t it? I’m theoretically sixty, and I gotta start acting like it.” 

“There’s no conclusive results on that, Prompto. Until you’ve got a clean bill of health again, we can’t be sure. Your baseline is off, and we don’t want to make an inaccurate diagnosis and put you in unnecessary danger.” He gave him a long, serious look. “You’ll know as soon as I can tell you, I swear.” 

They finished up the appointment and Prompto stepped out of the office, irritable. He paused when he saw Noct there, hidden in an alcove from sight of the rest of the hallway, but there. 

“Does Iggy know you’re here?” 

Noct fell into step beside him. “I’m supposed to be reading royal petitions. But he’s the one who scheduled that at the same time as your appointment, so I’m guessing he does.” They were silent for a hallway or two. “How’s your hip? Metal?” 

“Nah,” he replied. “Just bone. Another lie. Was cracked though – I’m too old to be taking on Iris in hand-to-hand.” 

“Good,” Noct said, sounding relieved. Another long silence. “You could retire now, you know. Honorable Discharge. I know Gladio offered it.” 

“Yeah, and then what would I do with all my time?” Prompto asked. “Am I old or not? You’re glad I don’t have a dizzy hip, but you still want me to retire.” 

“It’s not an age thing, Prompto,” he replied, frowning across at him and coming to a stop by an opened window. “You just went through a traumatic experience.” 

Prompto sighed and perched on the window with his good hip, pushing open a window pane. The fresh air was sweet, and the city outside was lively. “I was locked in a room for a few weeks. Sure, no bondage in bed – maybe ever again. And coming down is a bitch. But how is that more traumatic than watching you get stabbed _thirteen times_.”

“We spent years preparing for that,” Noct corrected. 

He felt a stab of fury, pulling his brows down into a deep scowl. “There’s no number of days it can take to prepare yourself for seeing your boyfriend getting stabbed over and over and over and—” He realized he was getting into a loop and quickly shut his mouth. 

Noct sat across from him, in front of the window he’d been looking out of. Blocking his view and giving him no choice but to look him in the face. “You said ‘boyfriend’.” 

“Ex,” he corrected himself absently. 

“Why’d you say boyfriend?” Noct asked in a soft voice. 

“Because I’m tired and I’m bored and in withdrawal and my palms and feet _won’t stop itching_ ,” he snapped irritably. “So forgive me if I drop a meaningless syllable off the front of a word!” 

“I’m pretty sure it’s some kind of treason to yell at your king.” The playful tone in Noct’s voice jarred him out of his mood. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, running his hands through his hair. “I’m weaning off sedatives. After breakfast and after dinner. Sorry.” 

“You don’t need to apologise.” Prompto gave a low exhale and a smile as he felt a elbow in his side. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere a little more private, hm? You can read me the royal petitions.” 

He snorted. “Fine. Okay.” He nudged him back. “Lead the way.”


	11. Proposition

“So.” Prompto shifted. “They’re not dying of natural aging?” 

“No,” Ignis said, putting down a booklet of information. “There was an employee contaminating the stasis fluid in the pods. He thought it was unethical for them to remain in stasis for their entire lives. He was speeding up the process.” 

He cringed, but lifted his eyes to look at Iggy. “And the MTs.” 

“The pollen, from the sylleblossoms. Built up inside the circuitry over the past few years and caused them to malfunction. With a clean and a servicing and a climate-controlled facility to house them in, the rest should be perfectly fine.” 

“So… I’m not going to die?” He asked, his voice weak. 

“Inevitably,” Ignis replied. “But there’s no evidence it ought to happen any time soon. There’s no evidence that _Dolly the Sheep_ will die as a result of the age of their DNA.” 

He snorted. “Dolly.” Shaking his head. He was flooded with an almost ecstatic sense of relief. He wasn’t _dying_ not actively. “Now I just need to get the doc to clear me and I can go back to being a guard.” 

“Actually,” Ignis said, picking up a different set of papers and shuffling them. “I had a different proposition for you.” 

He frowned in confusion. “What? Like, an actual job or some functionless title Noct invented to keep me from joining the guard again?” 

“Noct and I haven’t discussed the matter,” Ignis replied. “I thought it best to gauge your interest in the matter before I take the proposal to him.” 

Huh. Weird. “Well, don’t leave me in suspense then, Iggy.” 

“The king’s royal consort.” 

Prompto just stared at him. For a long moment. “Yeah okay. I thought you just said ‘the king’s royal _consort_ for a minute there. What was it really?” 

“You didn’t mishear me,” he answered, his voice composed and calm. “That was the position I think would suit you and the kingdom best.” 

“Iggy,” he said, confused, “that’s your position.” 

“For now,” Ignis replied calmly, leaning back to watch him calmly. “Noctis and I have not been particularly close in recent times. We’ve been discussing a change in the nature of our relationship. I suppose what I really want to know is whether you wish to take my place.” 

“It’s not up to me,” Prompto replied. “Come on, Ignis. Don’t do this. I know you know that my feelings have never changed. It’s not fair of you to dangle this in front of me.” 

“Did you stop to consider that Noct’s feelings remain the same as well?” The advisor asked, his expression serious. 

“As soon as I broke up with him so he could marry Lunafreya, he ran directly to you. And look how long that’s lasted.” 

“And it took mere weeks for you to begin sleeping with Gladiolus,” Ignis pointed out. 

“Yeah, but that was just sex. He _loves_ you.” 

He pushed up the frames of his glasses onto his nose. “That’s a discussion you and Noctis ought to have together. Probably one you ought to have had fifteen years ago." He sat back in his chair. “Well. My proposition has been delivered. You can take your time before giving your official answer. Speak to those parties involved.” 

Prompto frowned and leaned forward. “So. I’ll talk to the existing royal consort. Iggy what the hell?” 

Ignis sighed, crossing his arms across his chest. “I don’t know what you expect me to tell you, Prompto. In five years, I’ve watched Noctis go through the motions of life. Giving only the most perfunctory interest in anything – from running the kingdom, to his hobbies – and even our relationship.” 

“Don’t feel bad,” Prompto said quietly. “You know what he’s like about everything.” 

“I do indeed,” Ignis replied. “And I know what he’s like when he feels very strongly for something.” He looked at Prompto seriously. “I’ve never seen him so impassioned as when he discovered you could be endangered.” He gave a tired sigh. “I’m not resentful. You were more than obliging when I sought your blessing, though I know your feelings were hurt.” 

“That was years ago,” Prompto said dismissively. As if he hadn’t agonized over it ever since. 

Ignis just cut him with a look that made it obvious he knew what a lie that was. “If Noctis and I are going in different directions, then it would reassure me to know he would have you to turn to. Or return to, in this case.” 

“I don’t know, Ignis.” He sighed. “It’s been fifteen years. I don’t even know if Noct and I are _friends_ any more.” 

Ignis patted his arm. “You should talk this through with him.” He gave a slight smile. “After all. You have time now.”


	12. Finale

“Iggy, that’s not _fair_ ,” Noctis said through gritted teeth. “You can’t _ask me_ to choose between you and Prompto!” 

Ignis was calm. He’d stopped wearing his spectacles again. “I was merely informing you of the proposition I gave to Prompto. All of us ought to be equally informed about the situation.” He gave Noct a very serious look. “There is no time constraint, but you can understand that it’s a matter that ought to be resolved quickly to insure the minimum emotional distress.” 

“How can you be so _clinical_ about this?” Noct demanded, glaring at his partner. “This isn’t some diplomatic treaty, Ignis! You’re talking about us _breaking up_!”

But Ignis didn’t extend any emotion like he expected. It only proved how upset he was about the whole situation – Ignis only got _this_ withdrawn when he was on the verge of a break. “You and Prompto must have a discussion before a formal decision is made. I’ve cleared your afternoon schedule.” He stood. “I have several meetings to cover for you. I’ll see you at dinner.” 

He leaned in for one long, charged kiss, then strode out of the room. Noct didn’t go right away, he let himself mess around on his phone and unwind for an hour or two. But then he couldn’t put it off any longer. 

Prompto was in the pool when he found him, carefully exercising his hip. His torso, dappled with freckles, rose above the surface of the water. He turned his head, hair dripping and flat, when Noct approached. 

He smiled, and Noct’s breath caught. He’d forgotten how stunning Prompto could be sometimes. The ceiling of the pool room was glass, and sunlight streamed in, bathing Prompto in an almost golden afternoon sunlight. 

“You putting off more royal petitions again today, Noct?” Prom asked, easing his leg down and paddling towards the edge of the pool. He leaned against the side of the pool, the water lapping at his chest and armpits. 

Noct sat down, not caring as the water soaked into his seat and legs. “No. He gave me the afternoon off. To talk to you.” 

Prompto watched him for a moment. Heavy droplets of water slipped down his face and arms and shoulders and back. He wasn’t bulky and broad like Gladio - _nobody_ was. But Prompto was compact, with chiseled muscles. Built for running and swimming, not strength. His shoulders were speckled all over with freckles, and Noct could vividly remember tracing constellations with his fingers and the tip of his tongue. 

“Is this about Ignis asking me to take his job?” 

Noct shifted restlessly. “…yeah.” He leaned on one hand, staring down at the blond in the water. “It’s not fair. You both can’t _ask me_ to choose between you.” 

Prompto frowned and leaned up a little on his elbow. “I don’t think it’s about making you decide, Noct.” The water crept down his contracted abs as he raised himself out to sit on the tiled edge. Freckles splattered across his hips and back. Noct had once been intimate with _those_ too. “Ignis is afraid of losing you,” he murmured, placing a comforting hand on his knee. “But he doesn’t want you to be lonely. And he feels guilty about what happened after our breakup. He’s trying to make up for that.” He gave the knee a gentle squeeze. “But I don’t expect you to leave him.” 

“So you don’t want to be my consort?” Noct didn’t mean to sound so _hurt_ by the idea. But it did. The fact that he didn’t want him, even after anything. 

“That’s not what I said.” Prompto sighed, and swept his damp hair back. The patch of silver hair glittered in the sunlight. “I mean. I don’t _know_. I don’t know what Iggy does as your advisor and what he does as your consort. I’d have to know what a royal consort even _does_.” His hair stuck up, straight towards the roof like a chocobo’s tail feathers. 

“Yeah. I don’t really know either.” Noct watched him, a little sad as he saw the age in his former lover and best friend’s face. He’d missed fifteen years of their lives together. 

Prompto took up his hand and peeled back his glove. He gently kissed the tender skin at the base of his thumb. “I would never ask you to leave Iggy for me, Noct,” he murmured gently. “But if you two ever split, I’ll be here waiting. Not even a fake wife and grandkids could turn my heart from you.” 

He took a shaky breath, gently cupping Prompto’s chin in his hand. “That… that actually does help, Prompto.” 

He watched a dazzling smile cross the blond’s aging face. “Any time.” Prompto leaned into the touch. “I’ll be here, buddy. Ever by your side.” 

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end, my friends! I've left it a little open-ended, so you can decide for yourelf whether Noct stays with Ignis or starts again with Prompto. Thank you for coming on this journey with me!


End file.
